


Hold him to Earth

by blcwriter



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 16:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4228425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blcwriter/pseuds/blcwriter





	Hold him to Earth

A comment-porn ficlet for the Semi-Weekly Man-on-Man at [](http://jim-and-bones.livejournal.com/profile)[**jim_and_bones**](http://jim-and-bones.livejournal.com/)   posted by the brilliant [](http://emiliglia.livejournal.com/profile)[**emiliglia**](http://emiliglia.livejournal.com/) .  Pictures are VERY NSFW for[ this](http://community.livejournal.com/jim_and_bones/221109.html#cutid1) particular prompt, and of course members-locked.

\--

It just gets to this point where you can’t hold on any longer, your fingers unable to grasp his smooth skin or the bits finely prickled by hair, not that you need to, not with your head kept from banging the headboard by Jim’s hand just _right_ there under your crown to stop any collision—the relentless press, long slow slides of cock into ass, filling and filling and _filling_ and fuck it’s so hot and too much and his cock is thick and so fucking perfect, Jim’s ragged breath and _unh unh unh, yeah baby, ungggh_ a mere background track to your pulse hammering through you and the pull of his hand and holy sweet baby _Jesus_ his hands.

Sometimes you can’t watch when he’s steering the ship or a shuttle or fixing one of Scotty’s contraptions because this is all you can think of, those fingers wrapped all around you and jacking you off, him muttering _Come on baby, come on, you gonna jet your hot cum all over my hands so I can lick it all off, get you all nice and clean ‘cause you know that I like it, come on, baby, _please?__ his dried-out voice cracking on the last word like he has to beg you and not the other way round because the backs of your thighs, they’re shaking and sore and you can’t feel your toes any more because all your blood’s in your cock and pounding away in your ears, that and your heart threatening to fucking burst because _so gorgeous, ungh, fuck, just shit, ah, look at you, Bones, Leonard, fuck, baby, love you_ he babbles, his lube-sweaty hand clenching your cock as he pulls at your hair and bites at your mouth, bucking hard and balls-deep in an unconscious thrust down.

You see white as he sparks on that spot—- perfect spot-- and the sight of the side of his face and his sweat-slick hair and flushed cheeks is eclipsed and you should’ve known not to be afraid to see stars with this one around as the final few thrusts buck you both forward because no way in hell you’re not just along for the ride, grunts of just— _yes_ \-- though not in so many words, you’re a doctor but not in your bed—leaving your lungs as he slams his hand into the headboard and the top of your head slams into his hand and it’s a chain fucking reaction, you spurting and him chanting _yeah, let it go, all of it, here, just for me, oh, Bones, baby, oh_ but then he seizes and stills, head thrown back and it always surprises you how surprised he still looks in this moment like he’s kind of shocked that you’re here, but where the hell else would you be?

You somehow manage to make your hand work and grasp the back of his leg, pull him forward and down until he collapses against you, your legs shaking apart and away to the bed. Your fingers are tacky from preparing yourself because he loves to watch and you love that he loves it, and his hand’s trapped between you, still loose on your cock, your spurt all smeared between—but for now, reciprocation is key—he carries you—all—protects—shields your heads all from harm and not just right here in the sweat-murky bedroom.

The least you can do— maybe the most you can do— maybe all you can do because of course that’s why you love him, isn’t it, right, even if you don’t say it back as much as you could, even when he says _love you too, Bones_ when you growl at him and bring him a salad at lunch-- you’re a romantic old fool in the end, same as the rest of the crew, except you knew him first and you brought him to them and by God, you’ll stake your claim first last and always— what you— only you can do is hold him to Earth.

You dig your fingers into the back of his leg a little bit harder— it takes some significant effort but the wet happy sigh into your neck is so very worth it.

 _Love you, kid._ You can do that at least, too.


End file.
